


No Barrier

by Katydid_99



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Post-Canon, pierre is awkward and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katydid_99/pseuds/Katydid_99
Summary: “There’s plenty of places to sit in here,” Pierre stated slowly.She lazily smiled up at him. “I know.”“...You don’t want to sit somewhere else?”“No, thank you. I’m comfy here.”Natasha is young and wants to cuddle.Pierre is dear, bewildered, and can't handle this.





	No Barrier

Five.

That is the number of forms of seating that Pierre had in his room: one desk chair, three arm chairs, and a secondhand chase positioned near the windows. This did not include his bed- which more often than not functioned as another place to read rather than sleep- or any of the rugged areas on the floor- to which Pierre had found (after more times blacking out drunk than he’d like to admit) were quite plush. Counting that, he guessed that previous number was probably closer to fifteen.

All that space, and Natasha just had to sit  _ here. _

It was really quite uncanny; one minute he was alone on the chase with his book, the next the young countess was using him as a pillow as she did her needlepoint. How long had it been since she practically plopped herself into his lap? Minutes? Hours? Days? It was all starting to blur together as he tried to keep a grip on himself.

Pierre released a slow breath through his nose as he reread the same line in his book for what was probably the millionth time. He caustically peered over the top of his novel at the angel in front of him. His right leg was in a crosslegged position while its twin hung off the side of the chase. Natasha was seated in the hole his legs made. She leaned casually into his soft chest and stretched her legs straight, so that her tiny toes just peeked out from the hem of her satin and lace shift. 

The older man could feel his face burning as he looked down at the girl innocently stitching delicate blue and yellow flowers into her handkerchief, humming tunelessly under her breath. She was so close, her tight dark curls centimeters from his hands, currently white-knuckling his book. She smelled fresh, like clean laundry and newly-fallen snow. 

Suddenly Natasha looked up at him with a smile so sweet his chest hurt. Pierre quickly went back to his reading, like a normal person who was not about to faint. Or melt. Or burst into flames.

Natasha repressed the urge to smile bigger at Pierre’s obvious discomfort. How could someone so charming also be so awkward? Especially when it came to physical intimacy; the man was flushing so hard that his spectacles were fogging from the ruby heat glow in his face. 

“What are you reading?” she asked, craning her neck to get a better look at his book’s cover.

He swallowed thickly, willing his tongue to work normally. “Oh, nothing you would have heard of,” he said, surprising himself with how little his voice shook. “It’s in German. Philosophy.”

She hummed in consideration. “Will you read to me?”

He swears he almost dropped the book right then and there.

After a few moments of unintelligible stammering that will surely haunt him into his next life, Pierre manages, “It’s really not that interesting- quite dull as a matter of fact. And- and it’s German, so… and mine’s rusty as is, so it won’t sound good. That is, er, you-”

“Please, Pierre?”

After a beat he begins to read aloud, stumbling on what feels like every other word, but doing much better than he imagined it going. Aloud he can focus more on the book and less on the way she sighs with contentment and goes back to work. Words and facts. Concrete, certain details that make his world manageable.

Natasha cuddles deeper into Pierre and rolls her eyes at the way he stops cold for a second as she relaxes against him. As he insisted, she has no clue what he’s saying, but she doesn’t focus on that. Instead she listens to his light, unobtrusive voice dancing over the syllables, softening the usually harsh-sounding consonants. His heartbeat keeps time with the read-aloud, thumping softly against her back.

There are still plenty of dark days between the two of them. Natasha still gets cornered with the feeling that she ruined her own life and that she’s going to die alone. Pierre will still drink himself stupid, wanting to die but not feeling he’s done enough to deserve it. But today, Natasha thinks, is a good day for both of them. Spare for a glass of wine that morning, Pierre hadn’t had anything to drink; the only evidence of the wine left behind was a hint of dark coloring to his lips and the warm, lingering scent of aged grapes. His dark eyes were clear and steady as he read. His clothes were clean, if not a little disheveled. Natasha could see his jacket slung over a chair across the room and the cuffs of his shirt were undone and pushed past his elbows, exposing his thick wrists and strong forearms.

Awake, loving and open, gloriously sober… Natasha loved Pierre like this.

Her needlepoint fell into her lap as she let herself settle completely against the count’s broad, pillowy body. Feeling warm and little lethargic, she let her eyes flutter shut as she absently ran her hand along his thick thigh. Above her the reading trailed off with a long-suffering sigh and the distinctive thud of a long book being shut. She opened her eyes and looked up. 

“There’s plenty of places to sit in here,” Pierre stated slowly. 

She lazily smiled up at him. “I know.”

“...You don’t want to sit somewhere else?”

“No, thank you. I’m comfy here.”

Pierre smiled flatly in response, still embarrassed but quite tired of being so. “You’re toying with me,” he accused plainly. 

Natasha made no attempt to dispute his claim. “You certainly took your time in noticing.” She pushed his spectacles up his nose and let her smile turn a bit cheeky. “I won’t break- you shouldn’t be afraid to play back.”

With that she turned back round and starting stitching once more. After some hesitation, Pierre snaked his arms around her tiny waist. He dipped his face towards her head and sighed with relief into her scalp. In his mind, at least, he had accomplished the impossible. 

Natasha gasped lightly at the sudden warmth on her middle. “That’s more like it!” she laughed. Pierre, too sated to respond, hummed blissfully and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Natasha felt her own cheeks color in response as she went back to stitching, her forearms balanced atop his. His rosewater complexion looked even lighter next to her deep chestnut skin. She rather liked it. Light and dark: diametrically opposed, but absolutely perfect together. Made for one another.

“Yes,” Natasha thought. “This is a good day.”


End file.
